Silence Broken
by Sita Z
Summary: Sequel to In Silence. After their escape, Trip and Malcolm take the first steps into their new life.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Thanks to Romanse, T'eyla and Gabi for betaing! At this point I think I should mention that it was Romanse who pointed out to me that the epilogue left too many questions open, and suggested that I write a sequel. I was a little hesitant at first, but now I'm very glad I listened to her. Thank you big time for kicking my lazy butt ;)!

As to the story itself, it's **Slash** (nothing graphic, though), so if that's not your cup of tea... well, you know :).

As always, reviews are more than welcome!

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Chapter 1

The room was small, even by Denobulan standards. There were four cots, one on each side of the room, and four box-like lockers lined on the wall, in which the occupants of the room could store their belongings. The lockers were tiny, as if the designers had known that the people who would use them had little to no property to call their own, and enough distrust of the world to keep their few belongings under their pillows at night. Indeed, unlike everything else in the room the lockers looked shiny and new, as if they had never been opened at all. There was a sink next to the door, small but clean, and a large window looking out on the bay.

_Romantic_, Malcolm thought at the sight of a crimson sun going down and turning the ocean into a sea of blood. Then he smiled thinly at the thought. There was hardly any situation he could think of that was less romantic.

"Spare blankets are in a box under the bed, wash kits on the shelf, and if there's anything else you need, ask at the office downstairs, okay?"

Malcolm turned around to the young Denobulan who was standing at the door. "Yes. Thank you."

The man smiled at him, then at Trip, who had retreated to the window and was watching in silence. "You've got the room all to yourself for now, but you might get company tomorrow. Andorians," he added, although Malcolm hadn't asked. "Hope it's not a problem."

"It's not," Malcolm said quietly. The man smiled again and left, closing the door. Malcolm remained where he was for a moment. That last remark had been so typically Denobulan, a thing he was still getting used to. They'd take you in, give you clothes, food, medication and a place to stay the night, and then apologize for the modest accommodations. They had offered to get a visual communications aid for Trip when they learned that he couldn't hear the translator, and had been genuinely concerned when Malcolm said that his companion couldn't read. They had asked if either of them needed a counselor to talk to, a question that had almost startled a laugh out of Malcolm. He had caught himself just in time, however, and had passed the question on to Trip, who had quite obviously never heard the word "counselor" before.

"Someone to talk to you," Malcolm had tried to explain, mouthing the words so that they could be read from his lips. In the eight days they had spent in shuttle, it had become second nature to him to talk that way. Not that he and Trip had talked much, of course.

Trip had frowned. "'bout wh't?"

"Your feelings. How you feel about everything that has happened."

Trip had given him a blank look, and Malcolm had turned back to the asylum officer, an elderly lady with a sweet, motherly smile.

"Thank you, but I don't think we need a counselor," he had said. She had looked at Trip, then at him, but had said nothing and had ticked off the box on the electronic form that said "Counseling declined". Malcolm had been relieved. There was no counselor on Denobula that he would have wanted to burden with their story, and besides, he didn't really like the idea of telling it to one of those friendly, generous, civilized people. He felt ashamed enough as it was.

Malcolm turned around again and sighed when he saw that Trip was still standing stiffly next to one of the beds.

"Are you tired?" he asked, and briefly rested his cheek on his palm to elaborate.

Trip nodded. "Yes sir."

"Well, then lie down," Malcolm said. He knew that Trip would notice his impatience, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. It had been a long day, maybe the longest in Malcolm's entire life, and he just couldn't deal with this right now. "Lie down," he repeated, waving at the bed. "Get some sleep."

Trip did as he was told. He slipped out of his shoes, pulled back the thin coverlet and lay down with his clothes still on, covering himself with the blanket which he pulled all the way over his head. It was the way he had slept back on the shuttle; in his clothes, curled up and hidden away under a blanket like an animal retreating into its den for the night. Sometimes the blanket heap moved, and once Malcolm had heard a small whimper, but other than that, Trip literally slept like a log.

Slowly, Malcolm began to undress, folding up the Denobulan clothing and depositing it at the foot of the bed before he lay down. After eight days with no means of cleaning it, his uniform had been quite a sight to see, not to mention the smell, but no one had really noticed. The crew of the surveillance ship that had picked them up, the space port personnel, even the asylum officers – all of them had been far too busy staring at Trip, still dressed in his revealing, partly ripped slave pants. Malcolm had heard their thoughts as if they had spoken them aloud: _How disgusting. The poor thing. I don't see why we're even keeping diplomatic relations with those barbarians._

Trip had been ashamed, Malcolm had wished for a hole to open under his feet and swallow him alive, and when they had finally received a set of new clothes each, they had shared a look of mutual relief. Despite the embarrassment, Malcolm knew he had been lucky; at least they had believed him when he had told them that he was not a slave owner. If they hadn't, he would be spending his first night in jail instead of a reception center for asylum seekers.

_Now all I need to do is convince Trip._

Malcolm didn't even smile at the thought. It had been a long eight days in the shuttle, and not only because they were on the run, had little water, less food and only Phlox' assurance that his people would take them in. Malcolm hadn't expected that Trip would find it easy to cope. He himself had been sort of stunned at the idea that there was no one to give him orders, that he could eat when he wanted, speak when he wanted, sleep when he wanted. But it felt good. It felt right.

Trip, on the other hand, had only nodded when Malcolm told him that they were free, had responded with a quiet "yes sir" and then turned away to stare at the stars where _Shenandoah_ had disappeared. After that, he had not spoken to Malcolm unless he was asked a question. The smiling man who had asked for Malcolm's name was gone as if he had never existed, replaced by a human automaton who only stirred to life when he was given an order.

_Maybe that's just what they do_, Malcolm thought as he recalled Trip sitting on the shuttle's rear bench, hour after hour, day after day, eating only when Malcolm suggested it, sleeping only when Malcolm lay down. At least he had used the bathroom without being told to. _Maybe they can't deal with new things like we can.._

Adaptability. It was one of the reasons why the genetically enhanced class was called superior. They could survive in the direst conditions, could deal with hunger and thirst far better than any humans before them, and, most importantly, they could accommodate to almost any scenario that presented itself. They made decisions, gave orders, were in control. And the slaves obeyed. From childhood on they were trained to shut up, don't think and do what they were told. Few of them could read or write, and some had reverted so far into their passive state that they had stopped talking at all.

_It's not his fault. He can't help himself._

Still, Malcolm couldn't quite bring himself to leave it at that, and accept the man's silence as a natural thing. Trip _had_ talked to him, back on the _Shenandoah_, and he had done it out of his own volition. He had even asked for Malcolm's name, and had understood very quickly when Malcolm had explained how to pronounce it correctly. And it wasn't helplessness or a mindless stupor Malcolm had seen, the few times Trip had actually looked at him back on the shuttle. It was...

_Anger_, Malcolm realized. Or rather, a silent accusation. And a fair amount of hurt, as well.

Malcolm glanced at the bed where Trip lay with his back turned to the room, buried under his blanket so that only a few tousled strands of hair were sticking out. Malcolm suddenly found himself wondering what that hair would feel like under his touch. Soft, he guessed; not silky, but soft to the touch and a little spiky. He imagined running his fingers through it, mussing it, playing with it. He smiled, and in his mind, Trip smiled back at him, reached out and caught Malcolm's hand, holding it between his own. His skin was warm and dry, and the gentle humor returned to his eyes as he reached out to touch and stroke in return.

Malcolm blinked. And blinked again. Then he shook his head at himself, turned over and pulled his own blanket up to his shoulders. Sleep, he needed to go to sleep instead of paying attention to the ramblings of his overtired mind. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the image that was still there, refusing to go away. Trip smiling, gently... tenderly.

_Don't be a fool, Reed. If you're that desperate, go have yourself a wank and be done with it._

The rough mental shake didn't seem to help as it usually did, and Malcolm sighed in exasperation. He pulled the blanket up to his ears and over his head; maybe that would help. Trip always seemed to fall asleep in a matter of seconds, as far as Malcolm could tell.

Trip.

"I can't seem to get you out of my mind, can I?" Malcolm said quietly, half-turning his head although he knew perfectly well that his question wouldn't be heard. The back presented to him didn't move; of course not. And Malcolm knew that even if Trip had heard him, his reaction would be anything but the smile he had pictured in his mind.

He lay back down and closed his eyes again. Maybe, if he was patient, sleep would come to him after all.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews!

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Chapter 2

The next morning, Malcolm woke up to the sound of rain smacking on the window. He rolled over, his mind still tangled in a confused and fretful dream. The sky was gray, darkened by the storm clouds and the rain so that Malcolm couldn't even make out the bay in the distance. Water was running down the window as if someone were pouring it out of a can, and the wind was howling from the sea.

He lay there for a few moments, listening to the rainstorm and allowing the dream to fade away into non-existence. It hadn't been the sort of dream he wanted to recall... more on the nightmare side, that one. Malcolm had had nightmares ever since he could remember, and he knew that it was best just to let them slip away. Eventually, they all did, even those that had him sweating and clutching his blanket.Tonight's dream had been of the latter kind, if his rumpled sheets were any indication.

Malcolm's eyes drifted over to the other bed, and paused. It was empty. He hadn't noticed before; daylight wasn't quite there yet, and the room was still dark. He looked closer, and saw that the sheets were missing, too.

"Trip?"

Immediately he felt foolish; even if Trip was somewhere close, he had no way of hearing Malcolm's query. Malcolm pushed his own sheets aside and was in the process of getting up when he noticed the figure lying on the floor in front of Trip's bed, its snoring muffled by the blanket cocoon that covered it from head to toe. Quite obviously, Trip had abandoned his bed at some point during the night – fallen out or climbed out, Malcolm did not know – and had opted to sleep on the floor for the rest of the night.

Malcolm stayed where he was, sitting on the edge of the bed with his own blanket across his knees. Trip looked funny down there on the floor; rather like an oversized sandwich, or a giant caterpillar with a strange blond tuft on one end. Malcolm didn't feel like smiling, though. Maybe it was the lingering dream, but the sight made him inexplicably sad.

After a moment of just sitting there, he got up and knelt down next to Trip. The floor was cool, and he doubted that the thin blanket did much to keep out the cold.

"Trip," he said again. The man couldn't hear him, and yet, Malcolm couldn't just not talk to him. It seemed unnatural to do so. "Trip, come on, wake up."

He reached out for the sleeping man's shoulder, and was surprised when he suddenly found himself touching soft blond hair. Malcolm didn't know how it had happened, but somehow his hand had found its way into Trip's hair. He knew he should pull away, and yet, his hand stayed where it was and began to stroke softly, combing through the tousled strands and smoothing them down. Malcolm had never been one for physical closeness, and so it was only now that he realized how much he had missed the warmth one felt when touching a human body. Reveling in the sensation, he allowed his fingers to dig deeper into the hair and travel down to the nape of Trip's neck where they encountered skin that was warmer still. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of sliding under that blanket and feeling the warmth on his whole body, skin on skin, touch on touch. It was such a long time ago that he had felt anything like it, and he wanted it so desperately. Pathetic, really, but he couldn't deny it.

Suddenly, the blanket moved and Malcolm, his fascination broken and shock setting in, opened his eyes again and pulled back his hand as if burned. Trip's face was no longer concealed by the blanket, and he was staring at Malcolm, the skin around his mouth tense.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I... " He didn't continue, didn't know what to say.

Trip sat up, his eyes still on Malcolm, and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. There was something strange in his expression, and it was only when his eyes flickered briefly to the door that Malcolm recognized it for what it was.

"I..." He shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't ..."

_Didn't what? Mean to touch you? _It would have been a lie, because he did want to touch Trip. Even now, he wished he could return his hand to where it had been, and more than anything else he would have wanted to see Trip close his eyes and smile in enjoyment.

"I didn't want to startle you or anything. I'm sorry."

Trip moved away from him and began to get up, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. His face was expressionless, and looking at him, Malcolm knew that the best thing would be to leave it at that. He could hardly make things better, and anything he said would only make it worse.

"Trip... please.".

Trip hadn't been looking at him, but somehow, he must have caught the words from the corners of his eyes. He turned around, and Malcolm saw a flash of anger on his face before he smoothed out his features.

"Y' don't have to do th't," he said, so quietly that Malcolm hardly caught the words.

"Do what?" he asked carefully.

Trip stared at a point behind Malcolm's left shoulder as he answered. "Y' don't have t' say please or 'ct as if you're sorry. Go 'head and fuck me or wh'tever you w'nna do, just don't do this, 'kay?"

Malcolm was used to swearing – he had served under Duvall, after all – but he still flinched at the crude word.

"I don't-," he began angrily, then realized that Trip wasn't looking at him. Humiliated and ashamed, this made him even angrier, and he raised his hand to draw the other man's attention. Trip turned and bit down on his lip, as if he were expecting a blow and was forcing himself not to flinch or duck away. Malcolm's face grew warm, and he lowered his hand.

"Trip, I... I didn't mean to..." He took a deep breath, then continued, careful to mouth the words so he would be understood. "I never meant to hurt you, Trip. I don't know why I touched you, and I'm sorry. Really."

Trip stared at him, then turned away and sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked sad, his shoulders hanging as if in defeat, his hands plucking at the blanket. Malcolm looked at him and again had the overwhelming urge to sit down next to him and take him in his arms to stroke and kiss away the pain. Maybe it was because he had been alone for such a long time, and wanted to be close to another human being, if only for the physical contact. Maybe it was because he was a pathetic idiot and had fallen in love for the first time in his life, with someone who was afraid of him and more likely than not hated his guts. Malcolm didn't know, and at the moment it didn't really matter either.

He sat down on the bed next to Trip, careful to leave at least half a meter's distance between them. Then, he reached out and briefly touched the other man's arm to get his attention. Trip looked up.

"Look..." Malcolm shook his head. "I know how this... my touching you must have looked, but I promise you that I would never..." He hesitated. He didn't want to say it, and yet he knew that he had to be clear about this, even more since he knew that more often than not, Trip caught only half of what he was saying. "I would never force you to do anything you don't want. Okay?"

Trip stared at him, then suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Why're y' doin' this?"

Malcolm startled at the anger in the other man's voice. "What?" he asked. "Why am I doing what?"

Trip eyed him suspiciously, as if trying to assess whether Malcolm was making fun of him. Then he said, very quietly: "They'll send y' to jail or kill you f'r stealing me an' running 'way fr'm your ship."

Malcolm was silent for a moment. "Duvall wanted me to kill you. The Captain," he added when he realized that Trip wouldn't recognize the name.

Trip didn't seem particularly moved by the news. "So?"

"_So_?" Malcolm got up. "He wanted me to kill you." He pointed at his mouth and over pronounced the word – a cruel thing to do, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. Was the man so indifferent that he didn't even care whether he lived or died? Malcolm thought of himself throwing a lifeless body into the airlock and suddenly he was so angry he could have taken Trip's shoulders and shaken him. "Not that I expect you to be grateful or anything, but I did save your life, you know!"

Trip only looked at him. "Why?" he asked quietly.

_Why?_ Malcolm was silent. The ever-busy cynic at the back of his mind had plenty of answers to that one: _Because I felt like it. Never say never. Besides, our good doctor would have poisoned my next dose of happy juice if I hadn't_.

He silenced the voice. He hadn't decided to escape with Trip because he was afraid of Phlox, and, although it was hard to admit it to himself, not because he was particularly brave, either. The way he had led his life, it was rather the opposite that was true. He had always bowed to those who were in charge; his teachers, commanding officers, and finally Duvall, because he knew that they could literally take his life away from him.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I... I don't think I could have killed you."

Trip was silent.

"You know... you're the first person who ever asked for my name," Malcolm said. "I... oh, well, I don't know. I thought..."

_I thought we could be friends._

_I thought that maybe, if we lived in a different world, I'd want to spent more time with you. I'd want to share my thoughts, my feelings, maybe my life with you. Now go ahead and laugh. I won't blame you._

Trip gave him a long look. "Y' never told me that," he said.

Malcolm nodded sadly. "I know," he said. "I... I was never very good at talking to people."

Trip was silent for a moment. "Me neither," he said then. "Most of th' time I don't even listen."

It was a bad joke, but for some reason, Trip's dead-pan expression and grave tone made it incredibly funny. Malcolm began to laugh, and didn't stop until his ribs were beginning to hurt. Trip grinned, albeit a bit nervously, as if he had secretly feared that Malcolm would take offense.

"Sorry," he said.

Malcolm shook his head. "Sorry indeed," he said. "That was _not_ funny, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Trip said, his voice gaining confidence. "Not worth givin' ears to."

Malcolm stared at him, then went into another laughing fit. This time, he laughed until there were tears running down his face.

"That... has got to be the worst I've ever heard," he said when he could talk again. Trip had obviously not caught the words, and Malcolm, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, tried to pronounce more clearly as he repeated, "That was the worst joke I have ever heard."

Trip nodded solemnly. "I would think so."

Malcolm realized that in the last few minutes, they had talked more than in the entire week they had spent on the shuttlepod. Trip had never spoken like that before, either; his voice sounded stronger, and his words were far easier to understand than before.

They sat in silence for a while, then Malcolm touched Trip's arm again. The other man raised his head.

"About what you said earlier..." Malcolm hesitated, then continued, "I didn't "steal" you, you know. We're in this together, and... and as far as I'm concerned, I don't want to go back, ever. It's up to you if you want to stay with me, or do this on your own, but..." He took a deep breath. "I would like it if we stayed together."

Trip regarded him for a long time. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said quietly.

TBC...

Please leave a review and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for reviewing!

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Chapter 3

The rain poured down steadily for the next two days, turning the streets outside into small rivers and filling the days with the constant sound of water hitting windows, walls and roofs. When it eventually let up to a light shower on the afternoon of the third day, Malcolm found himself almost missing the ceaseless, unobtrusive noise.

They still had their room to themselves; the Andorians had taken one look at them and had straight out refused to share quarters with a pair of uncivilized humans.

"I wouldn't even eat in the same room as one of them, how can you expect me to spend my nights in their company?" one of the Andorians had asked Bh'arin, the young Denobulan who was responsible for their floor.

Bh'arin hadn't been too happy, but eventually he had found a room in one of the other houses where the Andorians could stay. In the meantime, cooped up inside because of the bad weather and lack of places to go, Malcolm and Trip had explored most of the reception center. It consisted of an office building, a cafeteria and three dormitories that were a temporary home to refugees from all over the quadrant. The Denobulan government refused nobody, and Malcolm had recognized at least a dozen species in the past three days, although he and Trip were the only humans. None of the others wanted to have much to do with them. Most of the time they were ignored, sometimes avoided, and once a Tellarite had spit out in front of Trip, muttering something about "damn slave owners" as he passed.

Malcolm thought that in all fairness, he couldn't blame them.

He and Trip had established something of a routine for themselves, centered mostly on the language lessons they were taking. On learning that Trip couldn't use a translator or lipread spoken Denobulan, Bh'arin had offered to give them access to the library so they could use a computer to learn _Micah_, the Denobulan version of signed speech. Malcolm found that he enjoyed the lessons not only because they gave him something to do, but because they were fun. _Micah_ was difficult, and more often than not, their joint efforts dissolved into laughter at their own helpless attempts to repeat the complex gestures that seemed so easy for the smiling lady on the screen. Every time Trip laughed, Malcolm found himself loving the sound more and more.

_Stop it_. Malcolm rolled over on the bed so that he came to lie on his stomach, returning his attention to the padd in his hand. On the screen, the lady smiled her never-changing smile and touched first her ridged forehead, then her lips. "Please; plea, request", said the English translation at the bottom of the screen. Malcolm was about to repeat the sign when the door to the room opened, and his hand froze in mid-air.

Trip had come in, but he wasn't alone. Another man followed him, and Malcolm experienced a brief moment of panic when he realized that the man was human. There was no way Duvall could sic his henchmen on them, not here on Denobula, and yet...

"_Hello,"_ Trip signed, then continued aloud to the stranger, "Th's is my frien' I told y' about."

Trip had never called him his friend before. Malcolm smiled and returned the signed greeting, then looked at the newcomer. The man was tall with light-brown hair that was combed to the back of the head Denobulan fashion. His clothing was Denobulan as well, and Malcolm noticed the ornamental twirls on the back of his left hand. Obviously, this wasn't one of Duvall's men, and no refugee, either.

The stranger held out a hand to him. "Hello, I'm Jonathan Archer," he said in English, in an accent Malcolm recognized as American. He smiled. "Sorry to barge in on you like that."

Malcolm took the hand that was offered to him. "It's quite all right. My name's Malcolm Reed."

"I know." Jonathan Archer smiled, and Malcolm thought by himself that the man must have lived among Denobulans for a long time; he was obviously a member of the master caste, and yet he had nothing of their haughty, self-assertive air. His face was open and friendly as he turned to Trip. "Your friend here told me."

Again there was that word. Malcolm glanced at Trip, and saw only calm acceptance on the other man's face.

"I was wondering..." Archer began, and Malcolm turned back to him. "You've just arrived here on Denobula, have you?"

Malcolm noticed that Archer was talking with precise slowness, his head turned so Trip would be able to read his lips, and suddenly knew that he liked this man.

"Yes," he said. "Four days ago."

Archer nodded. "Well, actually that's why I wanted to talk to you both... I suppose you don't know a lot of people here, and I was wondering if you would be interested in a job."

Malcolm exchanged a look with Trip. He hadn't really thought about this in great detail so far, mostly because he had no idea where to start. They couldn't stay at the reception center forever, of course, and he supposed that they would have to find something to earn themselves a living.

To his surprise, it was Trip who spoke up first – hesitantly, as if he weren't quite sure whether he wasn't overstepping any boundaries, but with growing confidence when Archer simply listened.

"I guess we're 'nterested, b't... I can't read, 'and I've n'ver really went to school 'r anythin'."

Archer didn't seem perturbed by the news. "That won't be a problem. My wife and I have a cargo ship, and we're looking for people who would be willing to sign up for longer runs. It's not a very exciting job," he smiled apologetically. "We're running cargo from Denobula to Vulcan and back. Two months to get there, two months to get back. It's the long trip that puts off most people, and I don't blame them. It can get quite boring at times."

Malcolm almost laughed at that. Boring sounded perfect; he had had enough adventure to last him a lifetime.

"I've been told you worked on a spaceship?" Archer asked, and Malcolm nodded.

"Yes, I have basic training as an ordnance officer and an engineer."

Archer's face lit up at that. "Just what we need." He turned to Trip. "We always need people for maintenance and shipboard routine, and you could also help out in Engineering after you've done the job for a while." He smiled again, and Malcolm thought by himself that he had never met a human quite like this one before. "The job is yours if you want it."

Malcolm looked at Trip, whose eyes were alight with anticipation. Archer's offer was almost too good to be true, and Malcolm decided better to test the waters right now.

"Well..." He bit down on his lip, not sure how to put this. "I suppose you should know that we're runaways. I've deserted my ship because... because I had no choice, and Trip came with me because they would've killed him. Under Terran laws, I'm a criminal."

Archer calmly waited until Malcolm had finished. "To tell you the truth, I couldn't care less about Terran laws," he said then. "When I come to the reception center, I know that people here usually have a history, and in most cases it's a sad one. As long as you do your job, though, I won't ask where you've been and what you've done."

At that, Trip smiled and Malcolm thought that he had never seen him look quite so happy. This decided him, and he found himself smiling as well as he answered.

"In that case... when can we sign up?"

TBC...

Sorry the chapter was so short; the next one will be longer, I promise. Leave a review... please :)?


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for your reviews!

Chapter 4

Slowly, he walked around in the small room, his hands traveling over the smooth surfaces of the furniture and the soft fabric of the bunks. There were two of them, a top bunk and a bottom bunk, on the wall next to the window. Next to each bunk, there was a shelf, and in the right corner next to the door, two lockers. Two desks faced each other in the left corner, each of them equipped with a computer screen and a chair that was bolted to the deck plating. Next to the window, a door led to a small bathroom.

_His_ room. It sounded... good, although he still couldn't quite believe that this was happening. This – the room, this ship – was going to be his home. He was going to sleep in one of those bunks, keep his clothes in one of the lockers, sit at his desk and... well, he could use the computer to learn more signed speech. And one day this new person he would become, the one who slept in a bed and owned a room, might even use that computer to read and write. He liked the idea.

He came to stand in front of the window. Outside, there was the spaceport, with myriads of small ships coming and going, large freighters gliding in between them like whales.

Soon their ship would be leaving the planet and its orbital station behind, headed for the vast emptiness of deep space. Captain Archer had said that they would be leaving at 0800 ship's time, so everyone could get a good night's sleep before the first day of their journey began.

As he watched the bustling activity of the spaceport, he noticed that his ghostly reflection in the window was smiling. Tucker had never smiled much, but it appeared that Trip was different in that respect.

Trip. Such a strange name, and yet he had come to like it. It seemed fitting that the new person should have a new name, and he liked the sound of it. Of course he couldn't hear it when they called him that, but he had seen their smiles and had shaken their hands as they said it. To them, it was a name like any other. And that was, he realized, what he wanted to be. A person like any other.

He turned away from the window and went to pick up his small bag he had left next to the door when Captain Archer had first shown them to their new quarters. The Captain – who had told them to call him "Jon" – had apologized for the fact that they would have to share. "We've got plenty of cargo space, but the living quarters aren't really all that big, I'm afraid."

Trip had wondered if the Captain knew that this room was the most luxurious in which he had ever spent the night, save for the occasions when he had slept in someone else's bed or on someone else's floor. He had said nothing, though, and had only nodded when Malcolm told Captain Archer that it was not a problem.

He set his bag down on one of the desks and began to take out the few things inside – the spare set of clothing and the wash kit Bh'arin had given him, the discs with the signed speech program and a broken padd he had pulled out of the trash, back at the reception center. Maybe he could find a way to make it work again; it wouldn't be the first time that he fixed something. Most of the broken gadgets he had fiddled with had come back to life at some point, and once he had earned himself a warm meal and a pack of cigarettes by repairing a broken music player that belonged to one of the guards. Maybe if he was lucky the Andorian engineer, Shran, would let him help out in Engineering. Trip had never seen a warp engine prior to the tour Captain Archer had given them, and he couldn't wait to take another, closer look at it.

He put the clothes and the bag into one of the lockers, then went into the adjoining bathroom to find a place where he could leave his wash kit. The room was larger than he had expected. There was a sink with a mirror, a toilet and a shower cubicle, a bottle of shampoo waiting on the wall shelf. Trip remembered the first time he had seen one of those, back on Duvall's ship. It had been embarrassing, having to be taught how to use it, but at the time he had been so tired and scared that he had given it only a fleeting thought. Ever since, though, he had often found himself wishing that he hadn't shown his ignorance quite so blatantly at the time. Malcolm must have thought he was an idiot... or worse, pitied him. Even more so when he had seen the stab wound on his thigh.

Trip shook off the thought and went back into the main room, where he started looking for a place where the discs and the broken padd could go. Finally, he put them into the locker next to his clothes and closed the door. The room didn't look much different than before, not as if someone were living here, and Trip decided to change that – if Malcolm didn't mind, that was. He didn't have a lot of experience in decorating a living space, but he knew that most people had pictures on the walls of their rooms. It shouldn't be too hard to get a picture somewhere, and maybe a carpet to put on the floor.

There was nothing left for him to do, and he sat down at one of the desks, turning the chair so that he could look out the window again. Malcolm was still down in Engineering, helping Shran with the engine. Trip hadn't quite caught what they were doing – he wasn't familiar with technical terms, finding it hard to lipread words he had never heard before – but he supposed they were checking the engine one more time before _Enterprise_ left the spacedock tomorrow.

_Enterprise_. Another new name he had to get used to. Jonathan Archer had smiled, looking almost embarrassed when he told them the name of his ship. "It's not exactly a name for a freighter," he had said. "She was called that when we got her, though, and I sort of liked it. Besides, it's not worth the trouble of repainting the hull."

Trip wasn't sure what wasn't right about the name, but he didn't ask, not wanting to make a fool of himself. He had liked the ship from the moment he set eyes on her, and when he saw the engine, he knew that it wouldn't take long until he would grow to love her. The Captain seemed to have noticed, and after they had left the engine room, he had grinned at Trip and said: "She's a rusty old hulk, but she grows on you." Trip had seen that this was an understatement; Jonathan Archer clearly loved his ship and wouldn't have renamed her for anything in the world.

When they'd come aboard, they had been introduced to the rest of the crew: T'Pol, a beautiful Vulcan woman who was Archer's wife and second-in-command, Shran the engineer, Hoshi Sato, who was in charge of communications, and Liz Cutler, who introduced herself as the "resident quack". He had been surprised that the crew would consist of only seven people, but as he soon learned, Enterprise was a large ship only when it came to her huge cargo holds. The rest was fairly easy to maintain, it seemed.

Archer had shown them the twelve cargo units, each as large as a warehouse and filled with an assortment of containers, crates, and, in Cargo Hold 4, a number of zoo-like enclosures for Denobulan animals that were to be taken to the Vulcan Science Academy. _Enterprise's _crew seemed very fond of their "pets", but Trip was secretly relieved when they left the place and continued their tour of the ship. It wasn't too long ago that he had been in a cargo hold himself, on the other side of the bars. Only that these animals lived in luxury compared to him and his fellow captives.

He soon forgot about the animals, though, when Archer showed them the crew deck. It consisted of a large area that was both common room and mess hall, a small galley, a gym, and the crew's quarters. Hoshi and Liz shared a cabin, as did Archer and T'Pol; Shran was the only crew member who had a single room. "Which is a good thing, actually," Liz had said with a grin, earning herself a look of disdain from the Andorian engineer. Obviously, the teasing going on between the two of them was mutual; when they entered the small infirmary, Shran had said something about "instruments of torture", and this time it was Liz who glared at him.

Trip smiled a little. He knew that he was going to like these people. He was sure that they thought he was a bit strange because he had hardly said a word, but it didn't matter. Maybe Trip could change, even if Tucker couldn't; maybe, some day, he would smile and joke like they did. In the meantime, he was content just to be here, to have a place he could call his own.

_And a friend_, he thought. Malcolm had become his friend, something that had rarely happened to him before. There had been people he talked to, people who worked alongside him, who sometimes shared their meals with him, and received some of his in return if he happened to be the one who had a few morsels left. Maybe they had been friends, he didn't know. They had all disappeared out of his life at some point, had died or had been taken to a different place. He was sad to see them go, but at the same time he knew that it wasn't something he could change. Eventually, everybody left; not because they wanted to, but because that was the way things worked for his kind.

He had never thought that Malcolm could be his friend. It wasn't the way things were supposed to be, and Trip had never been too enthusiastic about changes of any kind. For most of his life, he had been afraid of changes, and he remembered how back on the shuttle, he had been paralyzed with fear. He hadn't known where they were going, had expected that any minute, Duvall's ship would appear and blow them to pieces, or maybe take them back aboard so they could be tortured before they were killed. And he had wondered why Malcolm was risking everything by running away. He still did at times, although he thought that he was beginning to get an idea. That morning at the reception center, when he had woken and found Malcolm stroking his hair, he had been full of resentment at first, bitterly sure that he knew what would happen next. He was dependent on Malcolm, didn't have anyone else and was too much of a coward to run away, so all he could have done was to lie down and take it. Nothing had happened, though, and Malcolm had looked so unhappy that Trip couldn't help but believe him when the other man said that he had never meant to hurt Trip.

Malcolm had never come near him again after that day, but there had been brief, unobtrusive moments Trip found he couldn't get out of his mind: Malcolm watching him and smiling when he thought Trip wasn't looking. Malcolm bringing him a plate of sweet Denobulan trifle back from the cafeteria. Malcolm calling him his friend.

There were times when Trip wondered if it was really friends that he wanted them to be. He stared at the stars outside, his pale reflection in the window doing the same. What else could they be? And did he have any right to be thinking these things? Malcolm was, after all, a member of the master caste. It were his wishes that counted, not Trip's, and it was Trip's luck that Malcolm didn't simply take what he wanted.

_No_, he thought, and saw his reflection in the window shake its head at him. _No_. Maybe that was right for the way things worked back on Earth, but this was different. He and Malcolm were friends, weren't they? Even if they weren't equal, Malcolm would never hurt him. That was what he had said, and Trip saw no reason not to believe him. As for the other thing, the secret looks and the smiles... well, maybe there would come a time when he would know what to make of those.

A movement caught his attention, and he turned around to find that the door to their room had opened. Malcolm came in, smiling when he saw Trip.

"_Hello_," he signed, and Trip answered with a smile of his own and the same sign.

"_How are you_?" he added after a moment's thought. His _Micah_ was coming along fine, but he and Malcolm were still restricted to the most basic of signed conversations.

"_Fine, only tired_," Malcolm signed back. "_You_?"

"_A little tired, too,_" Trip signed, then continued aloud: "Did you finish with the engine?"

Malcolm nodded. "Shran said we're okay to be on our way first thing in the morning." Suddenly, he grinned, an almost shy expression. "I can hardly wait."

Trip nodded. He knew what Malcolm was talking about. "Me either," he said quietly.

Malcolm studied him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

His obvious concern stirred a strange feeling in Trip, and he nodded quickly. "Yes," he said. "I... I've been thinking." He didn't know what else to say, how to put any of his feelings into words. It wasn't something he had done before.

Malcolm watched him for a moment, then nodded as if he were agreeing to something Trip had said. "She's a beautiful ship, isn't she?"

"She is," Trip said. "She's wonderful."

They smiled at each other, and Trip knew that they both knew that this wasn't about Enterprise being particularly beautiful. She wasn't, and yet they were both falling in love.

"Well," Malcolm said, breaking the silence that had followed Trip's reply. "You know which bunk's going to be yours yet?"

Trip blinked. "Uh... no." Did it matter?

Malcolm laughed, gently. "It's just that most people prefer to sleep in the top bunk, that's why I'm asking."

Trip wondered why anyone would care about such things. "You can take the top bunk, if you like," he said.

Malcolm grinned a little. "I don't know. I don't have the best of experiences with sleeping in the top bunk. Once in school, the boy in the bunk over mine offered to swap, and when we went to bed that night, he started kicking my mattress until I fell out and broke the bedside table. I got detention for that one."

Trip wasn't sure he had caught all the words right. "What's detention?"

"It's a punishment you get when you've broken the school rules," Malcolm said, and when he noticed Trip's expression, added, "It's nothing bad. Mostly you just have to stay after class and do some extra work. I didn't mind."

Trip smiled a little at that, mostly out of relief. In his world, a punishment left you half-dead and bleeding somewhere on the floor, and he hated the thought of this happening to Malcolm.

"I won't kick you," was the only thing he said.

Malcolm grinned again. "I'll take your word for it."

* * *

Trip woke with a start. The room was dark, and he wasn't sure what had woken him up until he noticed the blanket on the floor in front of his bunk. He still had his blanket, so it could only be Malcolm's. It must have fallen down as he moved in his sleep.

Trip pushed his own blanket aside and got up. It wasn't exactly cold in their quarters, but he supposed that Malcolm would be more comfortable covered up. He picked up the blanket and turned around to return it to where it belonged. As he took a closer look, he saw that Malcolm was still moving restlessly, one hand in front of his face as if he were trying to protect himself. His lips moved, but it was too dark for Trip to decipher the words. It was obvious, though, that Malcolm was dreaming, and that the dream was not a pleasant one. There was a thin film of sweat on the other man's face, and his head turned from side to side as if he were in pain.

Trip stood there for a moment, blanket in hand. Then he climbed onto the edge of his bunk, one hand on the metal frame of Malcolm's bed to maintain his balance as he carefully spread the blanket over the sleeping man. Malcolm stilled while Trip made sure that he was covered up well, tugging at the blanket and taking special care to tuck Malcolm's feet in.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "It's okay, Malcolm."

Malcolm's face had relaxed, but as soon as Trip let go to return to his own bed, he began to toss again, the nightmare returning.

For a moment, Trip remained where he was, unsure what to do. Then he leaned forward and, very carefully, began to stroke Malcolm's tousled hair.

"It's okay," he whispered, his mouth close to the other man's ear. "It's okay."

He stood there for a long time, barefoot on the edge of his bunk, clumsily running his hand over Malcolm's forehead and through his hair. The dark strands were soft and silky under his fingers.

"It's okay."

Malcolm had become still under his touch, and his breathing seemed to be evening out. Trip knew that he should stop, but he didn't, his fingers combing Malcolm's hair even as his feet grew cold. It was strange, the way the darkness and oddity of the moment made him feel safe, as if he were doing exactly the right thing. As if it were his place to do this, his obligation even.

"It's okay," he whispered again. "I got your blanket. It's all right."

His fingers touched Malcolm's cheek, and he found himself wondering what would happen if he didn't return to his own bed, if he slipped in next to Malcolm and made sure that the nightmares wouldn't return to torment him again. He wondered for a long time. Then he carefully pulled his hand away, and, when Malcolm didn't stir again, returned to his own bed as quietly as he had gotten up. He knew it would take him a long time to go back to sleep.

TBC...

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	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for your reviews, please keep them coming :)!

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Chapter 5

"...and then we went to this bar, you know, back on the station. We sat down, got drinks and everything and I thought that we were getting along just fine."

Liz rolled her eyes and took another sip from her beer. A beer that was, in fact, a pale green in color, but no one cared, including Malcolm himself. He hadn't intended to have a drink, but then someone had pushed a glass into his hand, someone else had poured him a pint, and he had seen no choice but to surrender. To his surprise, he found that the green liquid tasted quite good, fruity and refreshing at the same time. By now he was finishing his second glass and beginning to feel a little tipsy, although it helped that he had had a large piece of Hoshi's birthday cake in between.

"I take it you were mistaken in your assumption?" T'Pol asked. Unlike everyone else, she was drinking water, and had had only the tiniest morsel of chocolate cake after much persuasion from her husband. Malcolm assumed that she was having a good time, though, or else she wouldn't be staying. He didn't know much about Vulcans, but in the past ten days he had learned that they preferred meditation and study to informal social gatherings. The crew often sat together in the evenings, either in the messhall or on the group of couches in the lounge, but it wasn't often that Archer's wife joined them. Today, though, she seemed to have decided that Hoshi's birthday was an occasion that deserved celebrating. Now she was sitting on the couch next to Archer, looking even more Vulcan than usual in the midst of her partying crewmates.

"You can say that again," Liz replied with a sigh.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, and Liz, who seemed to know what was coming, quickly added, "I mean, you guessed right. We'd been talking for maybe half an hour when the door opens and this woman comes in, tall, blond and everything. He jumps up like shot and tells me that he'll be right back, but by then she'd already seen him. She made a beeline for our table, and... well, all I'll say is that that was that for a first date."

"Come on, you can't stop there!" Hoshi smacked Liz' arm.

"Indeed," Shran joined in. "Did you fight her for your mate?"

Liz snorted. "You wish. She was his mother!"

Archer and Hoshi started laughing, Shran smirked and T'Pol raised an eyebrow. Malcolm glanced at Trip who was sitting next to him on the couch, relieved to find that Trip was smiling as well. He knew that it wasn't easy for the other man to follow a conversation that included more than two people. Their new friends were going to genuine efforts to learn _Micah_, but so far none of them were fluent enough to sign and talk simultaneously, except for Hoshi, who did her best to translate everything that was said into signed speech. Since Trip wasn't all that fluent himself, though, he often resorted to lipreading and missed much of what she signed to him.

Liz grinned. "Let's just say that it was an experience I wouldn't want to repeat."

"Amen to that," Hoshi said. "The same thing happened to me when I first went out with a guy, back in high school. I thought I was going to die with embarrassment."

"His mother walked in on you?" Archer wanted to know.

Hoshi shook her head. "His father, actually. Nothing much had happened, we were just kissing, but..."

Malcolm briefly thought of his own father, the tall, stern-looking "sir". He had been terrified of the man, even though he had hardly seen him more than once or twice a year, and even though his mother had strictly forbidden Malcolm to call him "Father" to his face. "_He must never hear it, understand? Never!"_

"Did he get angry?" he asked, mostly to push the memory back to where it had come from.

Hoshi sighed. "No, actually he was thrilled. He was so happy he came over and hugged the two of us."

"You're not serious."

"I am," Hoshi said. "I went to a Denobulan school, you know, and my boyfriend was Denobulan. They're a bit more... relaxed about these things, you could say. Meesin's dad congratulated him, and told me that if I ever grew tired of having only one boyfriend, Meesin had two older brothers who'd love to go out with such a good-looking girl."

Archer grinned, and Liz shook her head. "Yeah, they're kinda weird that way."

"An assumption made on cultural bias," T'Pol stated. "Vulcans do not practice human or Denobulan mating rituals, but we respect them nevertheless. They are simply different."

Malcolm half expected Liz to take offense, but the young woman only smiled at T'Pol. "I do respect Denobulan social mores, I just find them a little difficult to understand. Anyway, what about you?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "If you are asking whether I respect Denobulan traditions, the answer is affirmative."

"No, I mean, did something like that ever happen to you?" Liz asked. "Someone walk in on you on your first date?"

"No," T'Pol answered gravely. "My "first date", as you call it, was when Jonathan insisted on taking me out for dinner. There were many people entering and leaving the restaurant, but none of them appeared to pay us any attention."

Hoshi grinned. "Well, you wouldn't say they walked in on you." Suddenly, an impish glint appeared in her eyes. "Your turn, guys. Liz, T'Pol and I told you about our first dates, so it's only fair you tell us about yours."

Liz nodded, conveniently ignoring that in fact, she hadn't said a word about her first date. "Yeah, let's hear it. What about you, Shran?"

Shran straightened up a little. "I do not believe that this is any of your business."

Liz grinned. "Why, did she walk out on you?"

Shran's antennae quivered indignantly. "As a matter of fact, she didn't. I showed her around my father's estate and she said that my family could be proud of possessing such a large property even though we lived in exile."

"What was her name?" Hoshi wanted to know.

Shran's face grew a little softer as he remembered. "Val'ir. I met her when I accompanied my father on a visit with his business partner. We were both very young at the time, and so our elders never left us without a chaperon. Andorian parents are very strict, compared to humans."

"Or Denobulans," Hoshi said. "What about you, Captain?"

Archer grinned. "Wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to talk about these things in front of my wife, would it?"

"I do not mind, Jonathan," T'Pol said. "In fact, I would be interested to learn of your former experiences."

Archer gave her a wry look. "Thanks for the support." He took a sip of his beer, then turned back to Hoshi. "I was thirteen, and she was fifteen. Girl from next door, quite literally."

"Denobulan?" Liz asked.

He nodded. "Yes. Her name was Noral. We were having dinner when she came over and asked me right in front of my dad if I wanted to go out with her."

"Well?" Hoshi said.

"I said yes, of course. She was... well, let's just say I had noticed her before."

"It's the inner beauty that counts," Liz teased, and the Captain chuckled.

"That's what my father said, or something along that lines. I think he was worried about me. He needn't have been; I don't think I said more than ten words the entire time I was out with her." He sighed. "I think I was afraid of her."

Shran frowned. "I'm surprised your father gave you permission to go at all at such a young age. No disrespect intended, sir."

"None taken," Archer said. "He did tell her to bring me back at nine thirty, sharp."

All the humans laughed at that, while T'Pol and Shran shared a puzzled look.

"Traditionally, it's the boyfriend who's told to bring the daughter back at a certain time," Hoshi tried to explain, but neither Shran nor T'Pol seemed any the wiser after that.

T'Pol opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Liz had turned to Malcolm.

"What about your first date, Malcolm?"

Malcolm sighed inwardly. Quite frankly, his first date – or any of his so-called dates – were hardly worth discussing, but he could see that Liz wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

"Her name was Maureen," he said. "I met her at one of the official dances in which my school participated."

He would have liked to leave it at that, but of course, Liz would have none of that.

"Did you ask her out?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "We went out once, but it... we didn't really get along, so we decided not to see each other again."

The truth was that Maureen had left the moment she learned of his mother. He had never forgotten the look she given him, as if she had suddenly discovered that he was the most disgusting person she had ever met.

He hadn't learned from his mistake. He had been in two serious relationships in his life, and both had broken it off once Malcolm had worked up the courage to tell them about his parentage. Rachel had apologized, and Simon had simply been gone the day after Malcolm had told him. There had been no note, no call, only the certainty that no one in their right mind would voluntarily carry this burden with him. But he couldn't lie to the one he wanted to love, could he? So he had tried twice and had lost twice, and after that had no longer bothered trying.

Hoshi seemed to have noticed that he wasn't exactly comfortable with the subject and looked at Trip.

"What about you?" she asked, signing as she talked. "Any more mishaps you've got to add to our sad collection?"

Malcolm glanced at Trip. He was smiling, but there was something forced about the expression. "No," he said very quietly, so that even Malcolm who was sitting next to him had to strain his ears in order to hear him. "'m afraid n't."

Trip didn't normally slur his words like this, at least not anymore, and Malcolm sensed that they needed to back off, now. Hoshi seemed to have noticed, too, and was about to smile and turn away when Liz shook her head. Malcolm could see that she was more than a little tipsy by now, and happily oblivious to subtle things like sudden mood swings.

"Nu-uh," she said, and waggled her finger in Trip's direction. "No exceptions. We've all told our stories, and we wanna hear yours. Now 'fess up."

All color had leached from Trip's face. "Y' want t' hear my story?" he repeated, and Malcolm briefly closed his eyes. _Don't_, he thought. _Please don't._

Trip got up. Everybody was silent, and even Liz seemed to have noticed that something had gone terribly wrong.

For an awful moment, Malcolm thought that Trip was going to continue. Then, Trip averted his eyes and turned away.

"'m sorry," he muttered and left, shoulders hanging as he quickly walked towards the door.

Silence followed after he was gone. Malcolm looked around and found that only Hoshi and T'Pol were looking at him, one face calm, the other compassionate. Archer and Shran were studying their hands, and Liz had turned crimson.

"Look, I'm sorry," she began in a small voice, "I didn't mean to-"  
"It's all right." Malcolm hesitated, but only briefly. Then he got to his feet. "I'll... I'll talk to him." _If he'll let me._

"I'm really sorry," Liz repeated, sounding as she were close to tears, and Malcolm found it within himself to force a smile for her.

"Don't worry about it."

As he left, he could hear the others talking quietly, their voices fading as the door closed behind him.

TBC...

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	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the late update, and thanks for your reviews :)!

-----------------------------------

Chapter 6

When Malcolm entered their quarters, he found Trip sitting on the floor in front of his bunk. His head was resting on his knees, and it was only when Malcolm came closer that he looked up. Malcolm searched the thin face for signs of tears, but there were none.

"_Hello_," he signed after a moment's silence.

"Hi," Trip said, very quietly. He didn't move, just sat there with his arms folded on top of his knees.

Malcolm sat down on the floor next to him, his back leaning against the frame of the bunk. He said nothing, and after a while, Trip turned his head to look at him.

"'m sorry," he said, and wiped a hand across his head. "I sh'dn't have walked out l'ke that."

"_It's okay_," Malcolm signed, then continued aloud, "They're not angry."

Trip didn't seem convinced. He sighed. "I... I didn't know wh't else t' do."

"They should have left you alone when you said you didn't want to talk about it," Malcolm said. He knew Liz hadn't meant to be insensitive, but he couldn't deny that there had been a moment back in the lounge when he had wanted to strangle her. He was being unfair, of course; it wasn't as if the others knew much about him and Trip. They knew that the two new crewmembers were fugitives from an Earth ship and that they never talked about their lives before Enterprise, and Malcolm had assumed that they could pretty easily guess the rest. He realized now that maybe his assumption had been premature. Liz, Hoshi, Shran and even Archer had grown up on Denobula, and the Terran Dominion with its system of slavery and corruption was something they might have heard about in the news from time to time, if at all. They didn't know how it was when a person's life was crucially affected by their set of genetics, when a simple injection before birth decided whether you counted as a human being or not. How should they? It wasn't as if he had ever told them.

"That's it, y' know," Trip said softly.

Malcolm studied his face, and found only sadness and shame.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Trip shook his head. "They... they all have their stories, y' know, about th'r life, how they met some'ne and talked and..."

He said the rest so quietly that Malcolm didn't hear him.

"I'm sorry?"

Trip closed his eyes. "I don't have th't kind of thing," he said. "I have no life t' talk about. My f'mily's a woman 'nd a man back at th' work camps, and I've got dozens of sisters and brothers I don't know. I... I don't even kn'w what that is, a date. I s'ppose it's when you meet some'ne you like, but I d'n't know. I've never..."

He trailed off, and for the first time, Malcolm saw wetness in his eyes. And he thought that he understood.

"You've never been in a relationship," he said softly.

Trip shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Never. I've never even kissed some'ne. There was no one..."

A tear ran down his cheek, and he raised a hand to wipe it off.

Malcolm considered. Then, very carefully, he brought up a hand and laid it on Trip's shoulder. Under the fabric of Trip's grey work overall, he could feel the other man's shoulder that was still a little too thin. He would have liked to stroke it, to take Trip into his arms, but he knew that it would be the wrong thing to do. Trip was a proud man, even though his pride had taken too many blows over the years to show on the surface. Underneath the man's quiet exterior, though, it was there, and it had kept Trip from telling his crewmates how he had lived before _Enterprise_. Malcolm respected his decision, although he was sure that none of them would think any less of Trip if they knew. Now, however, something seemed to have cracked the armor, and for the first time he was getting a glimpse of the great pain Trip kept bottled up inside.

"The first time I w's with some'ne, I was fifteen, I think. Maybe younger, I d'n't know." Trip stared down at his hands that were clenched into fists.

Malcolm waited until he had looked up again, then asked quietly: "It wasn't someone you wanted to be with, was it?"

Trip shook his head. "No. She... she w's a guard at the c'mps... she and her friends sometimes took s'me of us boys back to their place... we kn'w they were gonna give us smokes an' chocol'te and th' like, so we went. She w's 'bout thirty-five or forty, I don't know. I was sort 'f clumsy at first, and she laughed at me. Afterw'rds, she gave me a pack 'f cigarettes an' told me to keep practiz'ng." He looked at Malcolm, and Malcolm saw in Trip's eyes just how much it had cost him to talk about this at all. "Not 'xactly what Liz would've w'nted to hear, huh?"

"No," Malcolm said. He had heard about this kind of thing – and worse – going on at the work camps, but this was different. He noticed that his fingers had tightened on Trip's shoulder, and deliberately loosened his grip. "No, but it's a good thing you told me."

Trip only looked at him.

Malcolm continued. "You know... there are a lot of things in my life that I don't want to talk or even think about. But because I don't, they keep coming back to me... mostly at night. I suppose you've noticed that I'm not a very quiet sleeper."

Trip nodded. "You've been h'vin' dreams."

"Yes. I've had them for most of my life. And I don't know, but I think it's the same thing for you. If you keep hiding everything inside, it'll tear you up. That's why I said that I'm glad that you told me."

Trip lowered his head. "Yes, but... it's not so easy. I'm..." He took a deep breath. "I j'st don't wan' everybody to kn'w that...th't I'm that kinda slut."

Malcolm gripped Trip's arm, harder than he had intended. Startled, the other man raised his head.

"You're _not_ a slut!" Malcolm forced himself to continue in a more level tone. "That guard was a slut to use a young boy like that, and God knows that Duvall's a slut, but you–" he squeezed Trip's arm for emphasis – "are not. You're... you're brave, to have lived through all that and still be here to talk about it."

"I h'd no choice," Trip pointed out quietly.

"That's what I'm talking about," Malcolm said, still angry that someone, even his friend himself, would use that word in the same sentence as Trip's name. "You had no choice, so how come you think it's you who is the slut?"

Trip shrugged and looked down at his hands again. "I... I n'ver really looked at it th't way. I'm not... well, y' know."

"What?" Malcolm asked, and when Trip didn't answer, gently lifted the other man's chin so Trip would be able to read from his lips. "You're not what?"

Trip shrugged again. "'m not l'ke you, or Duvall."

Malcolm frowned, not sure what Trip was referring to. "You mean the prenatal injections?"

Trip nodded.

Malcolm leaned back against the bed. The injections. He knew that his father had pulled every string available and had greased more than a few palms to get a doctor who would accept the fake identification papers and administer the treatment. It had worked, and young Malcolm Reed had been born a member of the master caste, his genetic code enhanced so that he would live longer, run faster, think better. And he had – he had expected to live long enough to serve Duvall for another fifty years, he had run fast enough to shake off the classmates who were chasing him, and he had thought many times whether he might not have been better off with his mother's people, who were slaves but at least would have accepted him as one of their own.

He looked back at Trip. "Fuck the injections."

Trip let out a short, nervous laugh. "Yeah, right."

"No, seriously. I mean, look at you. You've been working down in Engineering for less than two weeks, and you make it look like you've been doing for years. And you're doing it without some bloody injection screwing with your brain cells."

Trip smiled a little at that, and Malcolm's stomach did a little leap, something he was used to by now.

"Maybe you're right," he said, and then, his voice gaining confidence, added, "Fuck the bloody injections – that's wh't you say, right?"

Malcolm grinned. "Yes. You've got to work on the accent a little, but the rest is spot-on."

Trip smiled, and again Malcolm was painfully reminded just how much it had come to mean to him to see that smile as often as he could. He had found himself saying the silliest things, just to see that smile light up Trip's face.

He took a deep breath, knowing that what he was going to say next might destroy his chances of seeing Trip smile at him anytime in the foreseeable future.

"You said you've never been on a date..."

Trip looked at him. "Yes."

"Well, I would be happy to show you."

He watched Trip carefully for any signs of shock or anger. There were none, only a small frown on his face that was more curious than angry.

"You want t' show me?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "I... I would like to take you on a date. If that is what you want, of course."

"So it is wh't you want?" Trip wanted to know. There was an emotion in his eyes that Malcolm couldn't quite identify.

He nodded. "Yes, but right now, this is just about you. It's part of asking someone out – you've got to give them the chance to say no. For most people, it's the hardest part of all." He managed a little, strained smile. "Including me, by the way."

Trip looked at him for a long time, then, the smile returned to his face, as suddenly as it always did. "Yes," he said.

"You mean..."

Trip smiled. "You said th' other person c'n say no. Well, I'm sayin' yes. I'd like to go on a date with you."

Malcolm knew that if the circumstances had been different, he wouldn't have hesitated to lean forward and kiss Trip. He had never felt so close to the other man, and part of him was refusing to believe that this was actually happening. But it was, and he knew that he had to do this right, despite his sweaty hands and despite the bubble of happiness in his stomach.

He smiled at Trip. "Great. I'll pick up you tomorrow after your shift, say, eight thirty?."

"Pick me up wh're?"

"At your quarters."

"We'll both be here anyway," Trip pointed out reasonably, and Malcolm laughed.

"Yes, but that's not important. It's part of the date. And besides, I can always leave and come back to pick you up properly, right?"

Trip nodded, even though Malcolm could see that he was a little confused about the whole picking up business. Well, if he was being honest he had to admit that it was a bit silly, but at the same time he wanted to play this by the rules. So far, none of the people Trip had "been with" had found it necessary to follow the most basic rules of human interaction, and Malcolm wanted to set that straight.

He smiled at the other man. "I'll see you tomorrow at 2030 then, right?"

Trip frowned at first, but then he seemed to pick up on Malcolm's meaning and nodded. "Okay."

Malcolm smiled. "I'll be looking forward to it."

TBC…

Please leave a review and let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for your reviews!

Chapter 7

Malcolm closed the lid of the cooler and lifted it off the counter. He carried it in one hand, and on his way out picked up the bundle he had deposited next to the door. Switching off the lights, he grinned a little as he remembered how he had talked Liz into swapping their galley shifts. She had been desperate to know what kind of scheme he had in mind for which he needed to be alone in the kitchen, but he had only smiled and told her that he felt like cooking tonight. Liz, a less than enthusiastic cook herself, had finally agreed, telling him that sooner or later she was going to find out anyway.

_Well, we'll see about that_. Malcolm was still smiling as he walked through the messhall and headed for the crew's quarters. He had carefully timed his exit so he wouldn't meet anyone on his way out who would want to know where he was taking the cooler or why he was carrying a rolled up blanket under his arm. There were only so many things you could say in return without being too obvious, and Malcolm didn't want anyone to know where he was going tonight. Tonight was nobody's business but his and Trip's.

And Malcolm wanted it to be good. He was nervous like hell, of course, but that he had expected; it was a long time ago when he had last done this, so long, in fact, that he could hardly remember it at all. It had never been so important to him, either. In a way, this wasn't only Trip's first date, but his as well; never before had he dated someone he was in love with. Malcolm had finally surrendered to that truth. He wasn't only interested in Trip, or found him attractive, although that was certainly true. Love, however, was more than that, and Malcolm was quite certain that it was love he felt. He wanted to be with Trip, be with him and make him happy, mend what others had broken until maybe, one day, Trip would be able to love him back.

Eventually he stood in front of their quarters, feeling slightly ridiculous as he hesitated to enter. He wiped his free hand on his trousers, licked his lips and pressed the button to open the door.

Trip got up from his bed when Malcolm came in.

"_Hello_," he signed, smiling nervously, and Malcolm felt the familiar leap in his chest. Like Malcolm, Trip had changed into his spare clothes from the reception center – the only civilian clothes they owned – and had apparently gone to some efforts to comb his unruly blond spikes. The effect was ruined as he rubbed a hand through his hair, mussing it even more than usual. Malcolm found the look incredibly endearing, and noticed that most of his own nervousness had disappeared.

"Hello, Trip." He smiled, and set down the cooler and the blanket to continue in _Micah_: "_You look great."_

Trip smiled, obviously not believing him, and pointed at the cooler and the blanket. _"What's that?"_

Malcolm shook his head and grinned. "I'll show you when we're there."

"Wh'n we're where?" Trip wanted to know, but Malcolm only shook his head again.

"When we get there."

_"A surprise?"_ Trip signed, and Malcolm was glad to see the smile return to his face. He hadn't been sure if Trip would appreciate not being told where they were going, but it looked like he needn't have worried.

"_Yes,"_ he signed. "_You ready?"_

Trip nodded. "Been f'r almost an hour," he admitted with a small smile. "Do y' want me t' take some o' th's?" He nodded at the cooler and the blanket.

Malcolm shook his head. "I've got them."

He took the cooler, and was reaching for the blanket when Trip picked it up. "It's okay," he said, and smiled as if he wanted to let Malcolm know that it really was. It was all he said, and Malcolm understood.

He nodded, then broke the moment by hoisting the cooler bag over his shoulder. "Let's go, then."

Smiling, Trip held the blanket firmly under his arm as he followed him to the door.

* * *

"Cargo Hold 5?" Trip gave him an inquiring look.

Malcolm nodded. "Cargo Hold 5."

He touched a panel next to the bulkhead which slid aside and revealed Cargo Hold 5, the place he had picked for their date. It had taken him some searching, and he had considered abandoning all notions of originality and going with the starry panorama of the observation deck. Then, however, his searches had taken him to the back section of Cargo Hold 5, and he knew that he had found the ideal place for them to go.

"Come on," he said to Trip, who followed him looking a little puzzled. Malcolm grinned at him. "We'll be right there."

They passed several large containers labeled "grain" and walked through the narrow gap between two huge stacks of crates, then Malcolm turned around to Trip.

"That's it."

Trip's eyes grew wide, just like Malcolm's had the first time he had seen it. It was a jungle, or rather like one: the smells and colors were just right, the only thing that was missing was the chirping of exotic birds and the occasional screeching of a monkey. Big blue palm trees lined the walls, their trunks bent under the weight of fruit bearing stalks that grew out of their tops. Denobulan flora seemed to come in countless varieties, and at least a hundred of them were represented here – there were small weeds, huge blooming bushes, cacti, shrubs bearing tiny yellow flowers and a bunch of luminous conifers that looked for all the world like glowing Christmas trees. The air was misty from the irrigation sprays on the ceiling, and the red lamps some of the plants seemed to require immersed the place in a soft light that was very different from the halogen glare of the ceiling lamps.

"It's beautiful," Trip said quietly. Malcolm had been a little nervous about the other man's reaction, but he could see now that Trip was as mesmerized as he had been, the first time he had stumbled into this little oasis.

"Yes it is," he said. "We won't get to keep it, though; the plants are for the Vulcan Science Academy." He smiled at Trip. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy them now."

Trip smiled back at him, then looked around the small jungle. "Over th're, maybe?"

Malcolm followed his outstretched finger. There was a free spot right under one of the "palm trees", next to the conifers and just big enough to spread the blanket he had brought.

"Perfect."

The clearing Trip had found turned out to be just that; not only was it the most private place in the entire jungle, it was also the closest you could get to sitting on a beach and under a Christmas tree at the same time.

Trip grinned when Malcolm pointed it out to him."I think I'll t'ke th' beach," he said, sitting down on the part of the blanket that was closer to the palm tree. "You c'n have the Chr'stmas tree."

"Meaning I get to open the presents?" Malcolm set the cooler down in the middle of the blanket and sat down next to Trip. "Although a picnic isn't very Christmassy at all."

"A..." Trip frowned, like always when he wasn't sure about a word.

"Picnic," Malcolm repeated, careful to pronounce the word so that it could be read from his lips. "It's when you go to some place in the countryside, bring some food and eat it while you sit on the grass and fire ants crawl into the back of your trousers." He laughed at Trip's surprised expression. "Actually, that last part happened to me when we had a picnic back in school. My arse was blazing red, and the teacher made me go see Mrs. Cabrera about it. The school nurse," he added. "That was possibly the worst time I ever spent in a doctor's office."

Trip stared at him, then started laughing so hard that he almost fell over backwards. Malcolm had never seen him look so beautiful.

"_Sorry,"_ Trip signed. "_Sorry. I'm not laughing at you..."_ He continued aloud, "I pict'red it in my mind, 'nd..."

He started laughing again, and Malcolm sighed dramatically. "You and all the boys from my year."

Trip shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Sorry..."

"It's okay," Malcolm said and grinned, abandoning his expression of mock annoyance. "Actually it was quite funny. And I should think we're safe here," he added with a glance at the floor. "Unless there are any insect stowaways hiding somewhere between the leaves."

Trip was still grinning. "You'll h've to go see Liz th'n."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I'd rather bear the pain than wiggle my ant-bitten arse in front of another female medic. I would have back then if the teacher hadn't made me go. I still believe he did it just so they could have a hearty laugh about it in the teacher's lounge afterwards."

He signed along to his words so that Trip would catch all of what he was saying, and was rewarded with another smile.

"_Probably_," Trip signed. "Did you like 't in school?" he asked then.

Malcolm was silent for a moment. He knew he had been incredibly lucky to receive an education, something someone like Trip could only dream of, back on Earth. Still, he could not honestly say that he had enjoyed school. Then again, he could not honestly say that he had enjoyed most of his life.

"I liked the studying," he said finally. "Most of the subjects were to my interest."

Trip looked at him thoughtfully. "_You didn't like it there,"_he signed.

Malcolm shook his head. "No..." He took a deep breath. "I... I didn't exactly have a lot of friends. That is to say, I had none." He looked at Trip. "My mother was a slave, you know."

He had expected some kind of a reaction, maybe because he was used to it. It was what usually followed, along with a series of excuses and another person disappearing from his life, possibly forever.

Trip only nodded. "I h'd guessed something like th't. The way Duvall treated y'..." His face grew dark. "He h'd no respect for you. Treated y' almost like you were one 'f us."

Malcolm stared at him. It was the first time he had heard Trip express any kind of emotion about Duvall, and it came as a shock to him when he realized that Trip was angry... on his behalf. Because Duvall had shown no respect for him.

"I am one of you," he said suddenly. "I tried to be one of them, but that's over. They can go to hell, along with their genetic superiority and all that bloody rot. I don't care. The only thing..." He took a deep breath. "The only thing I'd like to go back for is to kill Duvall for what he did to you."

Trip lowered his head. "That's over, too," he said quietly.

Malcolm waited until Trip had looked up again. Then he said, "Maybe. But I still want to kill the bastard for hurting someone I love."

Trip stared at him. "You love me?"

Malcolm nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. The words had come out so quickly that he almost hadn't noticed, but now they were out, and he couldn't take them back.

Trip looked at him for a long moment. "You're the f'rst to say th't to me," he said then.

Malcolm reached out and took Trip's hand. Trip let it happen, and only sat there as Malcolm moved a little closer to him.

"I understand if you don't feel the same," Malcolm said. "And... and I won't ask anything of you. But I wanted to tell you. That's why I asked you to come here with me. It makes me very happy that you said yes. But I want you to know that-"

"Malcolm." Trip's voice was calm, almost... amused?

"Yes?"

Trip laid a finger to his lips. "Shh." Then he closed his eyes, leaned forward and kissed Malcolm. His lips were soft and warm, and Malcolm closed his eyes, let go of Trip's hand and slid both hands around the other man's waist. He felt two hands touch his own waist and back, and allowed himself to be pulled closer. They remained like that for a long time, lips touching, kissing not with fervor but with the tenderness they both knew was needed. Finally, Trip leaned back and smiled at Malcolm.

"How was th't for a f'rst kiss?"

Malcolm smiled back. "It was wonderful, love."

Trip laughed, and Malcolm took the other man's hand in both of his own. "I love it when you do that."

"Laugh?" Trip asked, and Malcolm nodded.

"It... It's beautiful."

Trip's smile was almost shy. "If y' say so."

"What, you don't think I'm right?" Malcolm asked.

Trip shook his head. "I'm n't good-looking an' all th't."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Tucker," Malcolm said archly. "You are about the most attractive male I've ever known."

Trip actually blushed and shook his head again.

"Yes you are," Malcolm said. "Let me put it this way..."

He leaned forward and kissed Trip again, opening his mouth this time. It took a moment, then Trip parted his lips in response. The kiss was still careful, their tongues touching but not pushing forward, and yet there was a passion behind it that stirred heat in Malcolm, pooling in his belly and lower. He wrapped his arms around Trip and stroked his hands up and down the other man's back, feeling Trip's hands do the same.

After a while, Trip leaned back a little. "Didn't y' say s'mething about eating... maybe we should..."

"It's in the cooler, it'll keep. If you're hungry, though..."

He didn't get any further. Trip's mouth closed over his, and Malcolm thought that the beer and the sandwiches could wait a little longer for all he cared. Then, he stopped thinking altogether... and found that it was a very pleasant experience indeed.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for the feedback, everybody! Some of you hinted in your reviews that you would like to see a longer continuation of this story, and I think it's only fair that I point out that this will be the last chapter before the epilogue. Sorry! However, I may be turning this into a series and write another sequel (one of my betas has been giving me ideas...)... largely depends on whether the plotbunnies bite or not ;).

Thanks for sticking with me and the boys to this point, and I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter and the epilogue!

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Chapter 8

_Steps coming closer. He kept his eyes on the desk, hoping against hope that this time they would walk past him, would leave him alone just once. I'm invisible, see, I'm not even worth noticing. Just go away and leave me alone._

_The steps came to a halt in front of him. "Hey, Reedy, what's up?"_

_A hand appeared in his field of vision, swiping his notebooks and pens to the floor. The French grammar landed next to a pair of sneakers, and the sneakers immediately stomped down on the open pages, ripping them and leaving dirt marks on the paper._

"_How's mummy, Reedy?" the voice continued, and this time he did look up into the hated face. He was a coward and he knew it, but at moments like this the fear would mingle with a hatred he could not conceal. The face noticed, beginning to sneer._

"_Ohh, you miss mummy? I bet daddy's missing her too, ain't he? He miss her so much he'd like to make her another little bastard baby, isn't that right, Reedy?"_

_The hand came down on his head, ruffling his hair. He batted it away and jumped up._

"_Fuck you!"_

_The faces surrounding him began to laugh. They laughed and laughed, and he raised his hands to his ears, but the laughter only grew louder, and in his despair he began to yell at them, shut up, shut up you fucking bastards shut up-_

_Malcolm, someone was saying. Malcolm, can you hear me, Malcolm-_

"Malcolm."

He opened his eyes. It was dark, and someone was holding him, a hand stroking his hair.

"Malcolm," a voice said softly. "It's 'kay."

He turned around in the arms that were holding him, and found that Trip was looking at him.

"You w're dreaming," he said.

Malcolm nodded, remembering the laughter and the ripped book on the floor. The dream wasn't new to him, and he knew how it would have continued, with him on the floor next to the book, the sneakers that had torn the pages kicking his groin and stomach. Sometimes, he even woke up in the infirmary again, the form teacher standing next to his bed: _You can't keep getting into fights, Reed. If you can't get along with your classmates, we'll have to consider whether this school is the right place for you. You know that it is an honor for you to be here at all.._

"I'm sorry I keep waking you up," he said and sat up. "I'll go back to my own bed..."

Hands caught his shoulders, pulled him back down. Trip slid his arms around him and pulled him closer until they lay spooned together, then tugged the blankets over both of them like a warm cocoon.

"Go b'ck to sleep," he whispered into Malcolm's ear. "It's okay."

It was all he said and Malcolm allowed himself to be held, listening as Trip's breathing evened out. He had never dreamed the dream to its end since he and Trip shared a bed. Trip always woke him before the hands began to tear at him and the feet started kicking, and he never complained about being woken up, never said much at all and fell asleep in a matter of seconds after making sure that Malcolm was no longer caught in his nightmare. Malcolm smiled a little. It still amazed him how quickly Trip could fall asleep. And he had noticed that the dreams were starting to return less frequently; sometimes, they stayed away for several nights in a row. It was amazing what a difference it made.

Malcolm closed his eyes. Trip's skin was warm on his, and his quiet breathing had a soothing effect. The dream had almost faded from Malcolm's mind.

It was now four weeks ago that Trip had asked him to sleep in his bed, a few days after their picnic in the cargo hold. Ever since, they had spent their nights together, cuddling on the narrow bunk and sometimes waking up on the floor in the middle of the night. Malcolm didn't mind; when he fell out he just crawled back in, and when Trip fell out he would take his pillow and blanket and lie down on the floor next to the other man; Trip's coma-like sleep wasn't disturbed by a small thing like rolling out of bed. He would always wake to pull Malcolm from his dreams, though, and Malcolm, guilty as he felt about disturbing Trip's rest, was grateful that he did. Until now, he had never realized how much it meant not to return to the past night after night after night. He was even beginning to forget what his childhood tormentors had looked like.

Trip shifted a little, and Malcolm opened his eyes and turned to look at the other man. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?" he whispered, and smiled when he got a soft snore in return. Trip and he hadn't made love yet, and Malcolm knew that it wasn't going to happen any time soon, but he didn't mind. He wanted to be with Trip, not for a while but forever, and he would wait as long as it took. When he had told Trip, the other man had averted his eyes and Malcolm had waited, afraid that he had done the wrong thing after all. Finally, Trip had looked back at him.

"You really love me, d'n't you?"

Malcolm had nodded, grieved but not surprised that Trip was still having doubts. "Of course I do," he had said, and Trip had smiled a little.

"Okay."

That was all they had said, and it was all that was necessary... for now.

Epilogue to come up soon!

Please let me know what you think!


	9. Epilogue

Thank you for the feedback!

The Libran Iniquity: Yes, Duvall and the Shenandoah's what I would deal with in a third part... hypothetical third part cough. Thank you for your reviews, loved every one of them :)!

Bluetiger: Sorry to leave you at this point! Still, there are many plotbunnies out there, and one of them might take a bite :)! Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

Epilogue

A small shudder ran through the ship, and Malcolm smiled. It wasn't long now until they would enter Vulcan's orbit, and he could hardly wait to get there not only because he had never visited the desert planet before. A few days ago, T'Pol had talked to an acquaintance of hers at the Science Academy, surprising everybody with the calm announcement that Healer T'Mir would like to take a look at Trip.

"The Vulcan knowledge of neurology is far more advanced than that of Human physicians," she had replied when Trip had told her that his deafness was permanent. "You should go and see the Healer, Mr. Tucker."

Out of respect for T'Pol, Trip had agreed, but it had taken a fair amount of persuasion on Malcolm's part before Trip had even considered letting the Healer examine him. Ever since the crude and painful procedure that had rendered him deaf, Trip was terrified of doctors and refused to believe that there were methods of treatment that were both safe and painless.

"They'll hurt me," had been his answer to every argument Malcolm brought forward. "There's nothin' anyone c'n do."

Malcolm sighed as he remembered their fruitless conversation. There were times when his Mr. Tucker could be quite stubborn. He was going to go see the doctor, however. Malcolm had talked until he was blue in the face, not letting it go until he had finally gotten a grunt that might have been a "yes". It was good enough for him; even if Trip refused to go this time, well, _Enterprise_ would return to Vulcan sooner or later.

He opened the door to their quarters and found Trip stretched on his bunk, arms crossed behind his head. It was unusual for Trip to lie down when he wasn't planning to go to sleep, and his face was dark, brooding.

Malcolm went over to the bed and sat down next to other man. He knew that it was often better to wait until Trip broke the silence himself, rather than to try and wheedle him into talking. His patience was rewarded when after a while, Trip sighed and turned to look at him.

"We'll be th're soon, huh?"

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, we'll be entering orbit any minute now."

Trip frowned and said nothing at first, then, very quietly, "I don't think I w'nt to go see that doctor, after all."

Malcolm sighed. It wasn't as if he didn't understand. Trip's only encounter with doctors before Phlox and Liz involved a memory where he was tied to a chair, a nurse forcing his head back while the doctor pushed a surgical instrument up his nose and into his brain. Trip still couldn't talk about it without losing his color, and had come to fear doctors the same way Malcolm feared water.

Malcolm reached out and, very carefully, pulled one of Trip's hands out from under his head to take it in his own. "Okay," he said. "You don't have to go, love. It's your decision."

Trip didn't look happy. "They're going t' hurt me," he said, although his voice lacked the conviction of before. "There's n'thing they can do t' help me."

Malcolm began to stroke the back of Trip's hand. "I can see why you would think so."

"You think I'm a coward, d'n't you?" Now the voice was almost accusing.

Malcolm shook his head. "No. You were tortured, and it's only normal to be afraid after that."

"I'm not afraid!" Trip said quickly. Then, after a lengthy pause, he added quietly, "Well, maybe I am. I... don't think I w'nt anyone, you kn'w, looking at me."

Malcolm nodded and held on to Trip's hand. "That's all right." He wanted to add something, but was interrupted when the intercom chirped.

He nodded at it to let Trip know what was going on. "Excuse me." He got up and pressed the button to take the call. "Reed here."

"Malcolm," Archer's voice came out of the speaker. "We've entered orbit, and Vulcan Space Control contacted me to let us know that they're going to start unloading the cargo as soon as we've docked onto the station."

"Understood," Malcolm said. While Archer talked, he had tried to sign most of what the Captain said to Trip, and while he still lacked the skills to translate all of it, he was sure that he had gotten the main points across.

"They also offered to transport a few of our crewpeople down to the surface," Archer continued. "I was wondering if you and Trip might want to go first. Healer T'Mir's office is in ShanaiKahr, and the Vulcans have offered to arrange a transport for you."

"Excuse me for a moment, Captain." Malcolm laid a hand over the speaker and turned to Trip. The other man had followed his signed translation carefully, his mouth thinning when Malcolm got to the part about Healer T'Mir.

"He said you _and_ I c'ld go?" Trip's voice was full of doubts.

Malcolm nodded. "Of course we would. Do you think I'd let you go on your own?"

Trip looked at him and for a second, Malcolm was sure he had seen the the ghost of a smile crossing the other man's lips.Trip came over to join Malcolm next to the intercom, leaning forward to speak after Malcolm had taken his hand off the panel.

"Tucker here, Captain," he began haltingly. "Malcolm's signing f'r me. I... we would like t'go to the surface, if that's all right w'th you."

Malcolm stood completely still for a moment. Then he broke into a smile, and, not even listening to Archer's reply, began to sign the only answer he could think of.

_"I'm so proud of you, love."_

* * *

They sat next to each other on a padded bench in the most elegant waiting room Malcolm had ever seen. It was kept in subdued shades of brown and yellow, the colors complemented by the soft orange sunlight that was streaming in through the large panoramic window. A small, self-contained fountain in the corner provided the only sound, and Malcolm found the murmuring of the water to be soothing on the nerves. Trip, of course, could not hear it, and Malcolm doubted that he had even noticed the fountain. The other man was pale, his hands intertwining in his lap as if trying to keep themselves from shaking. He hadn't said a word since they had left the shuttle that had taken them to ShanaiKahr.

Malcolm reached over and touched one of the restless hands, gently taking it into his own. Trip looked up at him, and Malcolm saw the mute fear in his eyes.

"It's going to be all right," Malcolm said. "I'm going in with you, okay?"

A moment passed, then Trip nodded, looking marginally calmer. "'kay."

A curtain was pulled aside and a Vulcan woman, imposing in her long Healer's robe, appeared in the opening. She was tall, wearing her long black hair braided on top of her head, and raised a hand in the Vulcan greeting as they got up.

"I am Healer T'Mir," she said. "Please follow me."

She held the curtain open for them, watching them out of calm, dark eyes. Trip looked at Malcolm, and then, coming to a decision, gave a slight nod.

"Let's go."

Malcolm held on to Trip's hand as they entered the office.

The End

If you liked this story… think it sucked… want to leave a suggestion for a third part…please let me know :)! Thanks for reading!


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